


Heat

by Blinky the Tree Frog (blinkytreefrog), Greenygal



Category: DCU - Comicverse, The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Implied Child Abuse, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:24:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blinkytreefrog/pseuds/Blinky%20the%20Tree%20Frog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenygal/pseuds/Greenygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the run and miles from anywhere, things get even worse for Piper and Trickster when Trickster gets shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in 2007, and was inspired by early information on the COUNTDOWN series. We were sufficiently intrigued by the concept of "Piper and Trickster on the run from everyone" to want to write our own version, and "Heat" is the result.

**37 degrees Celsius / 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit**

It was half a mile at most, and the landscape was, if not entirely easy to negotiate, at least nothing that a decent hiker couldn’t manage. To Hartley Rathaway, however, it felt like miles. Not because he was mostly unfamiliar with the territory (although that was true). Not because there were half a dozen very bad people with guns behind them (although there were). No, the trip was mostly excruciating because of James Jesse, or more specifically, the bullet lodged in James Jesse’s back.

It had been a terrible risk, they both knew that. But for the last six months, the two former (current? Possible? Even they weren’t sure any more) criminals also known as the Trickster and the Pied Piper had been on the run from villains, heroes and even people who didn’t much care either way. They were desperate, and terrible risks--even ones that led them into a dangerous villain's hideout in search of evidence that might not even be there--looked far more attractive when you had little to lose. 

But it had all gone to hell and they'd escaped only by the skin of their teeth, throwing themselves into the battered pickup truck that Trickster had procured several days ago and driving in a way that was almost certainly not approved by the manufacturers. They'd just dared to hope that they'd lost their pursuers, when the truck finally juddered to a halt under the pressure of one too many tight corners and, more importantly, bullet holes.

They'd left it in a clearing and had staggered the rest of the way back to the crude shack they'd been using as an outpost on foot. Blood dripped out from the crudely improvised bandage on Trickster's back, and it was only pure adrenaline that was keeping him upright. Piper supported him awkwardly. They didn't talk, didn't communicate. They fled; it was difficult enough to do that.

And then the shack loomed in front of them, and they fell upon the door with relief.

Trickster sagged against the wall. "We'd better have lost them by now." 

Piper fumbled in his pocket for the keys, wondering why he'd even bothered locking the damn thing in the first place. They were literally in the middle of nowhere, after all. The only ones within thirty miles of the place were the people who were currently trying to kill them, and if they knew about the shack a beat-up wooden door was hardly going to keep them out. Stupid, stupid. He bit his lip. Focus. Answer the question. "If we hadn't, we'd be dead. They didn't strike me as the subtle type."

"They’ll send out search parties to look...."

"We lost them a while back, and this place is in the middle of the woods. They won't find us. And I'll put the distraction field up; even if they come this way they'll never notice."

"If it works."

The key _finally_ slid into the lock. "It works fine!"

Trickster made a face. "Are you going to get the door open? I'm bleeding here!"

"Next time, duck faster." The door sprung open finally, and Piper half-dragged his injured companion into the room and onto the battered old sofa that sat up against one wall.

Trickster grimaced as icicles of pain darted from the wound in his back, but he couldn't let the insult slide. "Or maybe you could keep your shield up? You've gotta get better power packs. You don't see my shoes giving out mid-air." 

"Steal me some better equipment to work with and we'll talk. This isn't exactly an electronics lab, you know," Piper responded, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He settled down next to Trickster, bracing himself. Stupid, really. He wasn't the one with the bloody mess on his back, he was only the one that had to look at it. "Turn around, let me see."

"It's more fun to steal your own. You should try it some time." He moved around a little. "And I don't suppose you've managed to get a medical degree in between being the Flash's bestest friend and filling in your application for sainthood."

Piper frowned, irritated. "None of the above these days. Unfortunately for both of us I'm all you've got." He pulled up the shirt to take a look and blew out a breath. "Ouch." 

Trickster's tone was light, but then, it was rarely anything else. "Better than a kick in the head from the Flash." Still, he winced as Piper reached forward to touch the wound, and his voice became fractionally more...broken. "Or not. Actually not."

Piper bit his lip. "The bleeding’s not too bad; I don’t think it’ll need stitches. Hopefully. The bullet’s still there, though. Lodged against your shoulder blade. Might have been a ricochet, or just a bad shot, or... I’m going to have to get it out. It’ll get infected."

Trickster looked pained and closed his eyes briefly. "Is there anyone we can contact...?"

"It’s dark, the truck needs fixing, the nearest hospital’s ten hours away and if we go there they’ll arrest both of us. And even if we had someone to call, we can’t use the phone; we’re too close to the bad guys and they’ll be monitoring transmissions. Look, I wish there _was_ \--"

"Okay! Okay. Just...have we got a first aid kit? At least? Please?"

Piper tore his eyes away from the wound. First aid kit. Right. Because there really was no one who could help them right now, and he was going to have to.... Jesus. Dammit. Focus. "I think I saw one in the bin over there; let me see."

Trickster snorted. "Right; and I'm sure it's well stocked with top of the range goods and certainly doesn't contain moth-eaten bandages and a bunch of medications made when the Beatles were topping the charts."

Piper winced as he looked at the kit. It was...inadequate at best. "All that's missing is a bullet for you to bite on."

"You have no appreciation of the concept of bluffing, do you? Oh, I know. You could dig this bullet out and I could bite on that. Problem solved!" An undertone of desperation laced Trickster's every word now, and he was beginning to look very pale. The temporary burst of adrenaline that had aided their escape was disappearing like the wind, and the pain had turned to daggers.

Piper carefully tried to hide the panic in his own voice. "Not much point in bluffing under the circumstances, Tricks. Unless I just hit you over the head with this--" he lifted the kit slightly "--first." 

"Or how about you just use a mallet like the old days? Or maybe you could just get this over and done with and stop _screwing_ around."

Piper blinked, and then breathed in, his expression set. Still, he couldn't keep a slight shakiness out of his voice. "Right. Sorry." 

He dug into the first aid kit. Close to the bottom he found a battered six-pack of aspirin. "At least we have some painkillers."

Trickster shook his head. "They’ve been there forever. Probably already broken down. Forget what it turns into. Some kinda stomachachy thing, I think. I was...was trying to use it to make this stuff that explodes once but..." Trickster grimaced and trailed off vaguely.

Piper had known his companion for long enough to not be surprised at such revelations, bizarre as they might be. "Remind me to stay away from your medicine cabinet." He paused to consider this. "Or anything else you've ever touched." Still, he was probably right about how out of date the medication was. Damn.

Okay, next step then. Tweezers. Tweezers could be used to dig out the bits of bullets, but they'd need to be sterilised. Use the gas oven in the corner. Boil water. Add tweezers. Wait for a bit--except now he's bleeding through the improvised bandage. Double damn. Okay, get out proper bandage; apply it while the water is boiling....

His patient had gone completely white. "Ah! Ngh. That...you need to clean it or something.... Is there anything...? And the bullet... Please tell me you're not digging the bullet out with kitchen cutlery...."

He laid a hand on Trickster's unwounded shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "I just don't want you bleeding all over the couch while I sterilize the thirty-year-old tweezers, that's all. We have enough problems already."

Trickster looked marginally less horrified. "Oh. Good. Great. Not bleeding is good." Bandage applied, he twisted slightly and leaned against the couch on his side, avoiding the bad area. "See, this...? This is why it was easier to fight the good guys. I mean, yes, they kick you in the head, but they don't _shoot_ you. They even make sure you get to the hospital safely--albeit in handcuffs. There's consideration there, though. You've gotta admire that in a nemesis."

"I remember." Oddly, Piper found himself smiling a little as he said it. The old days had been...simpler, if nothing else.

Trickster’s rambling voice broke into his memories. "Of course, it’s hard to tell what they’ll do nowadays." He leaned more heavily onto the couch. "I mean... They all decide to change to be all dark and gritty and it’s...well." His expression was openly pained. "Maybe they...is that water ready yet?"

"A little longer. Just hold on." He glanced back at Trickster and frowned. In a deliberately brisk tone, he added, "Anyway, you should talk about changing. One of these days you'll have to tell me what you were doing at the FBI."

Trickster attempted a shrug. "You know what I was doing at the FBI. It was all completely above board. I...I..." Abruptly the colour drained from his face and he crumpled into the sofa, shaking.

Piper felt a surge of panic. "Trickster? Trickster!" He hurried from the kitchen area. "You still with me here?"

Trickster blinked at him sideways from the sofa, his mouth moving for several seconds before he managed to get anything out. "I... I can't. It just kind of... It's spinning." 

And now he looked distinctly grey, and several warning bells were going off in Piper's head. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath. Shock. How did you treat shock? 

He dug around and managed to locate a moth-eaten blanket. Keep him warm. He remembered that was important.

Trickster twitched as Piper tucked it around his body. "I'll be... I'm okay. Just leave it. I can do it myself!" 

"And then you'll get up and dance a jig. Look, you were shot, you're in shock, so for once in your life keep quiet and let someone else work."

"I...I'm okay.... Okay. Just...kind of hit me. I... Getting shot really really _burns_. Action movies have been lying to us. Dammit. Stupid hands won't stop shaking..."

 _Action movies. For heaven's sake._ "Movies lie? Who knew? Just keep still and breathe. You aren't going to have to lift any wallets for a while yet."

"'s shock, I know." Trickster bit his lip, his face twisted in pain. "This is worse than breaking a bone. Why is this worse than breaking a bone? It's a whole bone, for god's sake. This is just a bit of metal...that went fast...with a lot of gunpowder and hotness and, and...."

And now he was just babbling. "I'm not a biologist. It hurts a lot, that's all." He hesitated and bit his lip. He wouldn't have suggested this under most circumstances, but these...weren't most circumstances. "But it doesn't have to." He glanced involuntarily down at his flute, still attached to his belt.

Trickster missed the look. "You got a truckload of brandy?"

He smiled slightly, involuntarily. "No. But I can use my music--"

Through the pain, the expression on Trickster's face twitched ever so briefly with panic, and then settled into stone. "Don't even try it." 

"Trickster." Piper's expression was serious. "As much as it hurts right now, it's going to hurt a lot more once I start poking into that hole in your back to try and take a chunk of metal out of it. Do you really want to have to go through that without even any painkillers? This way, you'll wake up afterwards and never know anything about it."

Trickster's expression was closed. "Yeah, well it turns out I'm just in the mood for a refreshing bout of agony today. Water boiled?"

Piper looked exasperated. "Will you just be sensible? You'd let me give you drugs if we had them. This isn't any different."

"You spent about fifteen hours of last week talking to rats and you're telling me to be sensible?"

Piper glared. "They're better company than you. And a lot smarter."

"Bet you're saying that to the men in white coats as they drag you...you get dragged... Look, just...just get the damn tweezers and get it over with. Just get it out of me and stop talking, okay?!"

"Fine!" Still glaring, he got up and moved over to the stove, muttering under his breath. "Serves you right." 

Okay. The patient's an idiot and the tweezers are sterilised. And this is going to be even more difficult on a two-seater sofa, so moving him over to the bed is probably the best idea.... 

Trickster accepted help to get over to the bed without complaint, then reluctantly accepted more help when efforts to remove his shirt with shaking hands were futile. He flinched a little as it was pulled off and half-flopped onto his chest on the bed, unable to avoid a groan of pain. "Make it quick. Please?"

Piper laid a hand briefly on his wrist, and then picked up the tweezers. "I'll do my best. Try to hold still."

"Yeah. Right." His voice was bleak as he put his head down and braced himself for the agony.

For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds coming from the shack were muffled screams.

***********

**37.9 Degrees Celsius / 100.2 degrees Fahrenheit**

Afterwards, Trickster gripped the blankets with hands that were shaking a little.

"'some more water please?" he muttered into the pillow. His voice rasped slightly...from the screaming?

"Of course," Piper said, and nearly fled to the sink. It took three tries before he was able to hold the glass steady under the tap. 

When he returned, face hopefully composed, Trickster raised himself enough to sip from the glass, then slumped tiredly back to the bed. "Thanks," he said, then lapsed into silence, staring vaguely past Piper.

Piper sank down onto his chair next to the bed and watched him for a few minutes, until the silence started to get to him. Picking a topic nearly at random, he asked, "So, how do you know this is worse than breaking bones? I don't remember ever seeing you in a cast." Not very good small talk, probably, but he felt too frayed to do better.

Trickster didn’t object, anyway--for a moment Piper wasn’t even sure he understood. "What?" He blinked vaguely, then seemed to start tracking the conversation. "Oh. I...I've broken a few bones a few times. 's not as bad as this. Play the villain, take your lumps." His shoulders moved slightly, then stilled, an almost-shrug. "It's not like you've never been hurt, I bet. Plus I fell off the wire when I was eight. Everyone was pissed off with me." He sounded faintly aggrieved at the memory.

"At eight? You didn't use nets?" It was hard to imagine, with or without the nets. Assuming it was true, of course--it wouldn’t be the first time Trickster had spun utterly ridiculous tales of his carny childhood, just for fun.

"Just the practice one," Trickster was saying, voice slightly hazy with either pain or concentration. He sounded perfectly believable, but then he always did. "Only eight feet or so. Nine. Maybe. Can't remember. Was mucking around a bit. There was a show that night and they were all ticked." 

"Doesn't sound like much fun," Piper said in dry understatement. "Did you see a doctor, at least?"

"Yeah. My foot was in a cast and I was out of the show for weeks." He shifted a little, and winced. "It threw my balance off practicing on the trapeze," he added, as if that were a perfectly normal activity for a child with a broken foot, and perhaps in his world it had been.

"Taught you not to fall, I guess," Piper murmured. _He_ hadn’t so much as climbed a tree, back then. He’d never learned to judge Trickster’s stories because true or false, they were all equally alien to him.

"I didn't like the wire much anyway," Trickster sighed. "Trapeze was a bit better. Mostly. You broken any bones? Or anything?" He was talking quickly, the words choppy with discomfort, and sweat had beaded on his forehead. "Just distract me, will you? This is just..." He shifted a little, gritting his teeth.

Piper shrugged. "Nothing too serious." Mostly true; his worst experiences had never been the physical. "Cracked ribs, flesh wounds--never get in front of a woman with claws. A few concussions, I hate those...." His eyes strayed back down to the edge of the bandage visible under the blanket, and memory hissed down his spine. "...I got shot with an arrow once." He hadn’t realized he was speaking until he heard the words.

Trickster looked mildly intrigued. "Green Arrow?" he hazarded.

"No... Some other loon with a bow. I never found out his name." He hadn’t realized until now that he didn’t know; it had seemed irrelevant at the time, like knowing the precise color of the truck that hit you. "It was kind of...random," he finished inadequately. 

"Guessing they didn't have to fish it out with tweezers though." There was a sour edge to Trickster’s voice, and Piper bit his tongue to keep from snapping.

"Flash pulled it out. I think. It's a little blurry." Innocuous word for that haze of drug-borne insanity, the warmth of the venom spreading through his veins...he shivered, remembering.

Trickster hadn’t seen it, wasn’t even looking at him. "Guess...'s easier when it's done in two seconds," and gunshot wound or not, Piper’s temper flared.

"I offered you that," he snapped. "You’re the one who turned it down." _So stop whining_.

Trickster stiffened; maybe he’d picked up the unspoken words. "I said actually two seconds, not twenty minutes of mind control."

Piper’s eyes narrowed. "If I wanted to control your mind, I wouldn’t have asked permission." Not a threat. Just the truth. Because if Trickster thought that what Piper had been offering was anything like a real mental assault... Well. The more fool him.

Trickster’s gaze flickered to Piper for a moment, seeking what, Piper didn’t know. Then it shifted away again. The silence lengthened uneasily; when Trickster finally broke it, it was as if Piper hadn’t spoken. His tone was harsh, but that might have been the pain. "Give me...a day or two to get better. We know where we ditched the truck. They won't...won't find it in the trees. We can fix it; get out of here. When it's light. When the heat's off. When I’m not..." He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute. "Need some water... And I'm hungry but I can't... My head's still spinning. Dammit!" The last word was hissed through clenched teeth, pain and frustration equally evident in the tone.

Piper silently held up the glass. Even if he’d been inclined to offer sympathy, he knew perfectly well the other man wouldn’t want it.

Trickster managed a drink, then slumped back. "You're doing a, a...crap job of distracting me, y'know," he rasped.

Apparently they were going to pretend that last conversational turn hadn’t happened. Probably just as well, even if the whining was back. "You usually do most of the talking," Piper defended, "just like--" _Like Wally. Subject change, right now--_ "Look, don't worry about the truck," he said hurriedly. "I'll go check it out in the morning. It's just bullet holes, I can fix that." Then he paused as the words caught up with him, and he flinched, eyes drawn to the bandage again. 

Trickster laughed briefly, and then winced. "Doing well so far...."

"Well, let's keep it that way, all right?" Piper suggested, doing his best to sound casual and not...pleading. "Most of my fix-it skills involve a welding torch."

Trickster shot him a mock glare. "'kay... You come near me with a welding torch and I'm really gonna kick your ass."

"Oh, I don't know." Piper pretended to look thoughtful. "Cyborg Trickster? It might have potential."

"Could I join the Teen Titans?"

Piper’s mouth twisted. "I don’t think they’d let you in--" _Distraction, that’s not a distraction--_ "--but maybe if you started putting 'Kid' in front of your name," he finished smoothly.

"'salready someone out there who'd prolly try that...." Trickster muttered, scowling. 

_God, is he still holding onto that grudge? Yes, of course he is._ "Your little fanboy, right. Trickster 2.0--even more irritating than the original. Had to admire his skills, though." Piper smirked down at the other Rogue. Truthfully, he hadn’t seen enough of the kid to have much of an opinion, except that he was probably just retribution on Trickster for something or other, but punching Trickster’s buttons should at least give him something else to think about. 

Sure enough, Trickster’s scowl deepened. "Whish ones?" he muttered, mockery clear even through the blurring of the syllables. "The screaming when...when I punched him in the face or...or the falling when I dropped him into the dumpster? Li’l punk had no class. He...I..." He’d started to shift to look up at Piper, and broke off with a strangled sound, eyes squeezed shut and face twisted with pain.

"Maybe you shouldn't do that again," Piper suggested. He kept any sympathy out of his voice, but put one hand lightly on Trickster’s arm until the tension in his body eased.

"Stupid, _stupid_ \--" He was still for a moment, then opened his eyes again and gave Piper an uncomfortable sideways glance. "Dammit. I... You...you're going to hav'to help me up."

Piper stared at him. "What part of 'hold still' and 'you shouldn't do that' are you having problems with?" _Once, just once, he’s going to do something I tell him to...._

"What...what part of _bathroom_ are you having..." He gave up on the sarcasm, a bad sign in itself. "Dammit, jus...just help me...."

"Oh." _Right. This is going to be fun._ Piper sighed and leaned down to offer his support in getting Trickster up. Trickster’s face was pale and strained by the time he’d gotten mostly upright, but he seemed painfully intent on doing as much of the work as possible, leaning on Piper as little as his body would allow.

"Jus'...help me up, and to the door," he panted, half-standing, "and... Ah!" He twisted awkwardly, went stark white, and slumped backwards, a sudden dead weight under Piper’s hands.

Swearing, Piper grabbed at the other man, getting his arms around him before he could fall all the way. Trickster gave a harsh gasp--Piper was guiltily aware that he’d jarred the wound in his haste--and started struggling in his grip.

Piper tightened his hold automatically, and Trickster’s resistance increased. _Idiot,_ _does he_ want _to fall?_ "Will you just _hold still_ and let me--" he started, and then Trickster gave one convulsive jerk that broke him loose of Piper’s grasp, and tumbled backwards. Frantically Piper pulled him back--too hard, and they both went down onto the floor, landing with a crack of Piper’s head on the wooden floorboards.

Trickster made a strangled noise of agony, and then wrenched himself off and away from Piper with a speed that might have been insulting if Piper hadn’t been seeing too many stars to care.

A moment later the stars had faded, and he managed to suck in a breath. It seemed to help. Another one, and he felt capable of sitting up. His head ached, but it would pass. He looked around, and found Trickster only a couple of feet away, half-curled on the floor with his back to Piper, dazed and breathing in gasps. _Good_ , Piper thought, and couldn’t quite make himself be sorry. 

He moved over to kneel next to Trickster and looked him over critically, carefully not touching. He didn’t seem to be bleeding or seriously bruised, and his eyes were tracking Piper without difficulty. _Good,_ Piper thought again, and felt better. But all the same--

"So, feel better now that I'm not helping you?" he inquired sarcastically. "Maybe you want to lie there being self-sufficient all night?"

"Oh, shuddup," Trickster wheezed, apparently out of energy for any more eloquent responses. "I wasn't going to... I'd've been fine. You didn' have to...to _grope_ me.... The hell is your problem?"

Piper stared at him in sheer outraged shock. "What is _my_ \--" His voice rose to a shout. " _What is wrong with you?_ You can't even _pretend_ to be a decent human being for five minutes? To acknowledge that someone was trying to save your neck, _again_?" _He would have died in that damned base if I hadn’t dragged him out, and now he’s--_ And then Trickster’s words sank in properly, and he stopped short, the rage transmuting into something cooler and darker. "Or is it who was doing it, is that the problem?" he breathed. "There something you'd like to say to me, Tricks?"

"Trick _ster_ ," the other man snapped through gritted teeth. "I'm not...not telling you anything. Keep imagining things 'f it makes you feel better. Leave me out of it." As he spoke, he’d begun carefully trying to ease himself upright without Piper's help. It would have been more impressive if he hadn’t been shaking and dripping with sweat from the effort.

Piper felt his expression harden. "If you want," he agreed, sitting back. "Of course," he added in a deceptively pleasant tone, "if you think you're getting up without help, I'm not the one imagining things."

Trickster glared at him, then resumed his painful efforts, visibly biting his lip to keep silent. _I don’t care,_ Piper thought furiously.

But by the time Trickster had worked his way into a half-sitting position, heavily leaning on his shaking arms, Piper’s conscience was prodding him sharply. _How long are you going to make him suffer to prove a point?_

"Ah, hell," Piper muttered. Just because Trickster was a bastard, that didn’t mean he had to be. He offered his hand, and Trickster accepted it without complaint, not quite able to hide the flicker of relief in his eyes.

They managed to make their way over to the bathroom without discussion or incident, although Trickster still seemed determined to manage with the minimum of support. Piper grimly held his tongue, even when Trickster insisted on going in by himself, clinging carefully to the doorframe. It seemed a long time before Trickster called his name, and they made their shaky way back to the bed, Trickster gritting his teeth with every step. 

After he’d been awkwardly lowered back onto the bed, Trickster mumbled "Thanks," as reluctantly as if that hurt too. But the look of near-despair on his face made Piper decide to accept it at face value. Helplessness was difficult to endure, he admitted a little guiltily.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked.

"Sleep," Trickster mumbled, then something flickered in his eyes and he made a face. "M'fine. Jus' great. Never better."

Piper smiled ironically. "Getting shot turns you into a lousy liar."

Trickster blinked, clearly trying to gather enough wits for a comeback. "Guess...guess you've gotta have a couple of gunshot wounds under there then...."

"Some of us don't want to make lying into a way of life." He’d meant it to sound chilly, but it just came out...tired.

Trickster sounded tired too, and a little out of it. He wasn't lying about needing sleep, at least. "Then..." he protested, clearly struggling for the right words, "then people can see right through you. Why'd you want to be made of glass?"

Made of glass. Only Trickster would see it that way; all vulnerability, no support, no companionship....

"Because it's nice to have people who know who you are," Piper said softly, and felt his eyes suddenly blurring. So long since he hadn’t been afraid to be known.... "Isn't it?" he whispered, as if the other man might have an answer.

But Trickster just looked at him, uncomprehending, and then closed his eyes. 

Just as well. Piper didn’t want to talk anymore.

**************

**39.4 Degrees Celsius / 103 Degrees Fahrenheit**

It had been more than the day or two they’d talked about now, and he’d even managed to leave for long enough to find the truck and get it running. Unfortunately, leaving wasn’t an option they wanted to pursue. Trickster’s condition had gotten worse, not better, and Piper was beginning to get seriously worried. 

It was time do a more thorough search of the shack’s cupboards. 

Trickster lay curled on his side, blanket drawn around him, flushed and sweating but shivering a little as well. He looked faintly curious as he watched Piper turn the kitchen upside down, but his eyes were vague and unfocused until Piper came out from the kitchen triumphantly holding a dusty metal and glass object.

Then he looked confused, and managed to speak through the gasping breathlessness. "What... What’re you doing?" 

Piper gestured towards him with the object. "Found a thermometer. I’m taking your temperature. Say 'ah'."

Trickster squinted at Piper’s find. It looked old, practically antique, and the dust had been there for so long it appeared to almost be part of the thing. "You...you're not putting that in my _mouth_." He paused and made a face, looking semi-appalled to have fallen into such a blatant double entendre. "What did I...I just say?" 

Piper restrained himself, simply raising an eyebrow. "Don't worry. I wouldn't go near your mouth." He sat down next to Trickster and started to pull the blanket off.

Trickster flinched a little and twisted his head to look at his companion, looking more than a little concerned. "Where...where _are_ you going to--"

Piper gave him one of Trickster's own disquieting grins, and waited for him to squirm before shaking his head. "I wouldn't go near _that_ either." His tone was light, but the edge to it was audible. "Under your arm, that's all. It's usually for kids, but it does work."

"Oh." Even through the shivering, and the gasping, Trickster managed to assume an expression that indicated that he certainly wasn’t relieved because that would imply that he’d been worried in the first place. "Right...'kay." He winced and lifted his arm a little. "Where'd you find that? Thought the kit didn't...didn't have anythin'...."

"It was in the kitchen, right at the back of one of the cupboards." Piper carefully slid the thermometer in place. "I guess you use it for...food." Truthfully, he was a little uncertain about that; he’d only checked the kitchen out of sheer desperation. Cooking wasn’t his specialty.

Trickster made a face, his teeth clattering. "So the... the metal's not there to make it extra f...freezing?"

"I don't think they had it in mind, no," Piper said absently, pulling the blanket back up.

"I...I'm cold. It's cold. Why'sit so cold?"

Piper frowned and arranged the blanket so it was covering more of his patient. "It's not; it just feels that way. You're running a fever. That’s why I have to see what your temperature is." He kept his voice reasonably calm, but he found it difficult to disguise the look of worry on his face. Things were rapidly proceeding beyond his admittedly limited grasp of medicine and into distressing territory.

Trickster didn’t look like he was in any state to calm Piper’s fears. He shook his head in frustration, and then winced in pain yet again. "Stupid, stupid. My head hurts. I can't...can't sleep and I'm freezing.... Why can't I..." He cringed and pressed his hands to his forehead. "Stupid stupid head!"

"Well, that's something I never expected to hear out of you," Piper joked weakly.

"Jus' shuddup. You're not doing anything...you're not even _distracting_ me."

Again with the distracting? Piper eyed him for a moment. How was he supposed to take someone’s mind off _this_? Then again, this _was_ the Trickster. How about...? "That last poker game? I was cheating the whole time. And you never noticed."

Trickster directed a look Piper's way. _Success_. "Sure...sure you were. Sure you'd like to wish..." 

Piper smiled annoyingly. "I won, didn't I?"

Trickster looked indignant. "Can't win when we never got to _finish_. If it hadn't been for the assass...assass...." He gritted his chattering teeth. "People trying to _kill_ us, I would've had it. Delaying tactics!"

Poking at each other’s weak spots. Sniping and snarking their frustration out. Irritating each other just to get a reaction, _any_ reaction. Piper was in familiar territory here, at least. "Excuses, excuses. I was winning when we stopped, that's all that matters."

"That... That was on purpose, and you know it!" Trickster shifted uncomfortably and scowled down at the thermometer. "C’n... Can I pull this thing out yet?"

Ah well. A brief distraction was better than none at all. Piper sighed and nodded, pulling the thermometer free. He frowned at the display.

"'mi dead yet?"

"As long as you're still talking, you're probably safe," Piper told him, but he didn’t stop frowning. 

Trickster glared briefly and then his expression changed to something that was far more serious than anything Piper was comfortable seeing him use. "Are you going to give me the bad news, or don' I get to know?"

Piper hesitated, but really, it was pointless keeping it from him. "About a hundred and three. I think. It's not an exact science." He couldn’t manage to sound particularly reassuring.

"...that's not very good."

"It could be worse. Maybe it'll stop there."

Trickster half-shook his head derisively. "You...you don' believe that. I _know_ you don't believe that."

"Well how would I know?!" Without meaning it to, Piper's voice had risen to a near-shout. "Do I look like a doctor, here?"

"You're not _stupid_. And you're not sitting there with a bullet in your back and, and your hands aren't shaking and you're not freezing and your head isn't about to split open and you don' feel like you're about to throw up and why don't you think of something for a change? There must be something! God, my _head_..."

"What, I'm supposed to be able to snap my fingers and--" Piper stopped abruptly and reeled himself in, taking a deep breath, then another, while his heart rate slowed. Getting angry was stupid. It was _pointless_ getting angry. It wouldn’t stop the shivering, or change Trickster’s colour to something more resembling a human being than a zombie, or stop the.... 

Trickster gasped and jerked forward. "I'm... I don't... I'mgoingtobe sick...."

 _Oh hell._ "Hang on." Piper scrambled to the kitchen and grabbed the first container that came to hand, a battered and dusty saucepan that was hanging from a hook on the wall. He carefully propped Trickster’s head up a little and tried to hold him steady as he painfully retched into the container. He could see Trickster start with agony as the wound got disturbed. See his face turn an even more ghastly colour as he vomited. See the water gathering at the edges of his companion’s eyes.... He tried to ignore that. It was difficult.

When Trickster had stopped retching, Piper waited a minute, then asked quietly: "You done?"

"Ack. I... Water?"

Piper put the saucepan down and hurried over to the kitchen again to fill a glass of water, grabbing a damp cloth while he was at it. "Here." He didn’t bother trying to put the glass in Trickster’s shaking hands, carefully tipping it into his mouth instead.

Trickster gulped, and spluttered a little, and then dropped his head back to the pillow, shivering, his eyes glassy and half shut. "Got to do something...can't think."

"You know, Trickster, you don't need to think _all_ the time," Piper said with some exasperation. "Hold still, let me clean you up." He started to wipe down his companion’s face, and frowned. 

It brought back memories. Helping at the homeless shelter, wiping down the face of a sick little kid whose mother had brought him there because they were both tired and miserable and hungry. He’d dug out some food, and some Child Panadol, and he’d cleaned the kid up, and wrangled a bed for the mother and.... They’d smiled gratefully, talked a little. And it’d felt good, so good. It had been a _nice_ memory.

Once. 

Now all it did was make him ache inside for the life he’d never have again. For the person he probably never was in the first place. Nothing left but ashes in his mouth and the man on the bed who avoided his eyes and flinched when he touched the cloth to his face. Like he was poison.

" _You_ don't think. That's...that doesn' mean _I_..." Trickster’s voice was hoarse but persistent.

"The arrogance works better when you're not flat on your back," Piper said tiredly. "And as far as I can tell, when you think it just gets you in trouble."

"'Swhy it's so much fun." There was a vague whisper of a smile on his face, before another twinge of pain made him hiss.

Piper rested one hand very, very lightly on his shoulder for a moment, but his voice wasn't particularly gentle as he suggested, "Maybe you should be quiet for a while." He lifted his gaze from Trickster and stared hollowly at the dusty, cobwebbed cabin. "Fun." he muttered. "Right." He felt another desperate wave of homesickness for his relatively tidy, relatively _sane_ life in Keystone. God, he even remembered thinking, back then, that he wished things could be a little more dangerous. A little more interesting.... Piper frowned again and picked up the battered pot to empty it. And here he was. Lucky him.

He came out a few seconds later to see Trickster grimace and curl into himself a little more. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Nothing diff...different. Just hurts. Won't stop..."

Piper closed his eyes, because he was tired, and he was trying to think what to do. Not because they were blurring. Of course not. "I know. I'm sorry. I can't do anything about that." He hesitated. "Unless you've changed your mind....?"

Just for a second, the shivering stopped and Trickster was very, very still. "No." He very nearly managed to cover up the thread of panic that underlay that word. "I'll survive. Be okay. I'll...I need 'nother blanket. It's wet. This one. So cold...." He shuddered badly and curled up a little more. 

Piper opened his mouth to argue and then shut it, albeit reluctantly. "It'll hurt less if you hold still," he pointed out, not bothering to disguise a caustic note to his voice. "I'll change the blanket."

Trickster flinched deeper into the bed as the blanket was pulled off, turning away from the glare on his companion’s face. "I can't stop moving," he shot back. "Can't stop _shivering_. Too...too cold. You don’t know how _bad_ this is." His voice seethed with frustration. "So...so, poor you got shot with an _arrow_ once? That doesn' burn like, like... It doesn't burn you. You don't know--" 

The words were so unexpected that for a moment he didn’t even register the pain, and then....

 _Poor you got shot with an arrow once._ An arrow dipped in Joker venom, on the day that his tidy Keystone life had fallen apart and shattered into pieces. An arrow that had taken his mind and twisted it into something foul and horrendous, and he’d stood there laughing as he tried to kill and kill and....

 _Poor you got shot with an arrow once._ He didn’t just _say_ that--

Piper's body stiffened, his fists clenching. _He didn’t just say that._

Trickster blinked up at him, looking confused. "Wha...?" 

But then the rage...focused inside of him, into something detached and cold, and his tension shifted into angry, jerking motion as he dropped the blanket, turned and headed for the door. His hand was already on the flute by the time he wrenched it open.

"...Piper?" 

The flute was versatile. It could put people to sleep. Make people trust and believe. Take away pain...and give it. Turn solid objects into broken little pieces, and he watched as the nearest tree shuddered and splintered and twisted under the sonic assault. As it was torn apart, as it was obliterated, as it _died_....

He stopped.

"Piper?"

He stared at the tree. It was...it was....

"Ahh...look..."

Obliterated. Pulverised. Dead. 

He felt like throwing up.

"Piper..." 

Part of Piper wanted to ignore the insistent voice, but instead he raised his head and turned back to the cabin. "Yeah." His voice was weary. "I'm here."

"I...you want to talk about...?"

 _Talk about it?_ His smile was a death's head grin. "Playing therapist now? It isn't exactly your role."

"I'm adapt...adaptable." Trickster shifted painfully. "And also...little confused, have to say." He gave Piper a look of 'genuine' concern that usually worked wonders in getting people to open up.

Most people, anyway. Piper had seen it before, and his eyes narrowed, the pain receding behind a wave of defensive bitterness. "Oh, save the phony sympathy, Tricks," he snapped, striding back through the cabin door. "You just want to know if I'm going to flip out on you. I'll be fine." He was back at Trickster's bedside by the time he finished the sentence. 

Then he leaned in, and his voice was low, and very, very calm. "But don't start comparing suffering with me. That's not an argument you want to win."

Trickster eyed his companion warily. "I'll...keep that in mind." 

There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Piper picked up the fresh blanket and carefully began to tuck it in. 

****************

**40.5 degrees Celsius / 104.9 degrees Fahrenheit**

The hours crawled like a fly in molasses. Piper felt like he’d been there forever, wedged awkwardly into an uncomfortable chair, forced to stare at the only person left in his life while he steadily got worse and worse, the only sound between snatches of conversation the abrasive rasping as Trickster fought for breath. 

He’d had nightmares like this, he was pretty sure.

Trickster’s temperature was still climbing higher, and he’d thrown up several times; Piper had prudently left the pot nearby on the floor. He lay curled up on the bed, blanket wrapped around him. His eyes were open, but they’d developed a glassy stare, and he was shivering and twitching with the pain and the fever.

 _Worse and worse..._ "Trickster." Piper touched his arm to get his attention. "You need to drink more water."

He jumped slightly when his arm was touched and struggled to focus on Piper. "Wha...?"

"Water," Piper said relatively patiently. "You need to replace the fluids you're losing." He held up a glass by way of demonstration.

Trickster blinked vaguely. "Who’s pouring water on me?"

Piper's mouth twitched. "Now, that _would_ be quicker," he murmured under his breath. In a louder voice: "Not pouring. Drinking. You remember drinking?"

"All wet," Trickster agreed. "I'm thirsty," he added, as if it were a new discovery.

"Yeah, that's how it goes. Here." He held the glass carefully to Trickster’s mouth.

Trickster gulped the water as best he could, spluttering a bit when Piper tipped a little too fast. Then he sank back, murmuring, "Hot and cold and hot..."

"Yeah," Piper sighed. "Get a mirror and a lightning rod in here and we can have a real reunion." _And then I could kill them._ Not that strangling the other Rogues would fix anything, really, but it would make him feel _much_ better.

Trickster gave him a worried, slightly unfocused look, and Piper wondered if the thought had showed on his face. But instead he protested: "That's not...I don’t wanna be made of glass. It hurts. It crackles and people can see...can see through you...."

"You're not made of glass," Piper said with forced patience. _God, I wish he'd find something else to worry about--_ "If you _were_ , you wouldn't be running a fever. See?" He pressed his hand to Trickster's arm, partly in demonstration and partly to check his temperature.

Trickster flinched back noticeably. "Don't _touch_ me--"

Without thinking, Piper grabbed his arm again, irritably snapping, "It's a little late to be--" 

Trickster cut him off, a note of...panic?...in his voice. "You can't touch! I'll crack! It hurts! He made me...made me... " He slumped back, still feebly trying to shake Piper's hand off. "It's all gone to mirrors...." he murmured. "Don't touch...."

 _Mirrors?_ Piper's eyes widened, and he dropped his hand hastily. "He made you what?" he asked carefully.

"Mirrors. Made me into glass. It hurts to touch, hurts to breathe...."

Piper stared at him. _Made him into_ glass _? For real?_ It might have been the fever talking...or it might have been one more thing he didn't know about Trickster, and the image made something tighten in Piper's chest. " _McCulloch_ ," he breathed, and his hand went to his flute in pure reflex. It could have happened. Mirror Master could have done something like that. It was insane, but he _could_ have. Hell, he _would_ have.

But Trickster didn't elaborate further, just shuddered and mumbled, "Hurts...." His voice faded into silence.

"I know," Piper breathed. "I know." He started to reach out, but pulled back. "It'll be okay," he said instead, thinly. It was all he had to offer.

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Trickster's expression cleared into half-coherent frustration. "Don't know why...what...not making sense. Nothing comes out...out right."

Piper's laugh was involuntary, and a little painful. "That's why we're Rogues, pal. That's why we're Rogues."

"But my brain...won't work. I need my brain. I need it." He sounded panicked.

"It's okay," Piper soothed. "You don't need it right now." _And it wouldn't do you any good anyway,_ he thought, but didn't say.

"Always need it," Trickster insisted. "I can't. They're watching. Always watching...."

 _Paranoia now?_ "Who's watching?"

He gave Piper a vaguely surprised look. "Audience. World's watching."

Piper couldn't help but sigh. "I know the world is your stage, Tricks, but you can step off. Just for tonight."

Trickster looked tired. "Always watching. Never stop. But they...they can't see...."

"There's nobody watching you," Piper said carefully. "Just let it go, all right?"

"Wrong. 'Swrong. It's you." He was staring at the wall, his eyes tracing patterns that weren't there. "Piper's a silly name. Made of rats."

"Yeah, well, it beats 'Hartley Rathaway.' Look, I'm not an audience; you don't have to impress me."

Blank look. "You're here." His breath hitched and he groaned with pain, curling in on himself a little. "Stopit, stopit."

Piper closed his eyes for a minute. "I can't," he said tightly.

"So long. Been so long. So tired I c'cant sleep. Hurts...." He looked exhausted, and nearly on the verge of tears. Then there was another twitch of panic and he blurted out, "Don't...don't use. Please. I can...I'll be..."

It was a minute before Piper's tired mind could make sense of that, and when he did he felt like banging his head against the wall. "You'll be--fine, right? Just fine. Just fine even when you should be _screaming_ , because, what, I'm watching, and you can't let it go for _one_ night--" And it didn't matter how much he understood not wanting to let someone else into your head, all he could think was: _I could make it stop hurting if he would just_ let _me--_

"Can't. Can't," Trickster mumbled, sounding increasingly upset. "You can't see. I'll fall. My shoes...."

Piper tried to push down the frustration, keep his voice calm and reassuring. "It doesn't matter if you fall. I'll catch you." _Liar_ , whispered a voice in his head, but he pushed that down too.

Trickster shook his head jerkily. "Nonono. Bad onion. There...there are spiders on my back. They're biting me!"

Piper blinked, disoriented. "Onion? ...never mind. There aren't any spiders, Trickster. It's just the gunshot wound." He paused, looking down at Trickster's drawn face. "Which...isn't much of an improvement."

"No spiders... don't know why...."

"Me neither," Piper sighed, rubbing his eyes. "You make even less sense when you're feverish."

Trickster didn't look like he was hearing him. "Nothing...nothing left. No...no sense. It's not..." His eyes half-focused, and he frowned. "You're here?"

"I'm here, the spiders aren't, and things will make more sense when your temperature goes down," Piper told him. "I think that brings us up to date."

"Why're you...you...I don't... Don't touch the badness...."

Piper...flinched. "Yeah," he said unsteadily, "it's a little late for that advice, I think. Especially coming from you." Bad decisions, bad choices...Trickster had always seemed to trail them in his wake.

"Keep away," Trickster breathed, and blinked up at him. "Can you...you see behind faces?"

"No," Piper said tiredly. "No, I can't--that's you, remember? I never know what the hell you're thinking...." _Not when you're making plans, not when our lives depend on each other, not when even you're too sick to be lying--I never_ know _\--_ He shut off the frustration with a concentrated effort, instead reaching for the damp cloth to wipe the sweat from Trickster's face again.

Trickster closed his eyes, but didn't move as he was tended to. "Can't think," he mumbled. "Head hurts. Bad head...."

"Well, it does get us in a lot of trouble. Although it gets us out again, too," Piper added, to be fair. "Mostly. When you're not too caught up in the brilliance of your plan to duck."

"Bad ducks," Trickster murmured. "And me. Bad behind face...."

 _And what am I supposed to make of_ that _?_ "I wish I _could_ see behind your face," Piper said finally. "I used to think I knew you.... Where it counted, anyway--you scammed and you schemed, but you didn't hurt people." He paused, then conceded, "Well, unless they really had it coming. But--I barely even know me anymore. How am I supposed to know you?"

"You...you're the _good_ guy. Wish I...I can't. I don't know...."

The plaintive note in the words woke fear and frustration in equal measure. "If that's your way of saying you don't know either, it's not a lot of comfort," Piper told him. "Trickster's always supposed to know what he's doing--isn't that some sort of fundamental law?" His mouth twisted. "Though I guess I'd rather you be confused than sell me out." A little quieter, he added: "Anyway, I'm not the good guy. None of those around right now. I'm just..." He paused, unsure how to finish the sentence, and trailed off.

"Don't know why you're here.... I... Why're you _here_?" Trickster gasped and brought a hand to clutch feebly at his forehead. "My head. It hurts so bad...."

Piper tugged his hand gently back down, holding on lightly. "I know. I know. It's the fever...." His voice was strained. "I'm here because everyone's shooting at us. Or trying to send us to jail, and I'd rather--" He bit off the word 'die.' "Otherwise we could be...somewhere else. Somewhere much better, with hospitals and a phone line and a decent hardware store...."

"Nothing here," Trickster whispered. "There's nothing.... Too sick; too hurt. Worse and worse and there's _nothing_...." Panic was threading through his voice.

"Don't. _Don't_. One bullet and you want to give up?" Piper was beginning to panic, too--Trickster was burning up, he could feel it--but it was mixed with helpless anger, and his hand tightened on Trickster's. "I'm here, and you're here, and this isn't the time to run out on me!"

"Can't _run_ ," Trickster protested. "Trapped. In here, inside, with you. _You_. You don't...don't _understand_. I might start...start..."

"Might start what?" Piper all but snarled, insensibly hurt by that "you." "Bleeding, crying, hurting? You think I don't understand _that_? You think it's above you to be in pain like everyone else?" He softened his voice with an effort. "They get through it. I got through it. You will too." Because no other outcome was worth considering.

Trickster shook his head feebly, a look of frustration on his face. "No. I don't mean... You don't... You'll control... I don't know how...how they do it...."

"You can't do anything when you're being controlled," Piper said, flatly. _Except survive it._ "If you could, it wouldn't be control. Look, will you let that go?"

"You can! What...what they want." Trickster squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, face set with pained concentration as though he was about to impart an important truth. "If they, they care about you, you have...control," he said carefully. "Of a...of a sort. Kind of. I... If you care about them, they have...they have control."

For a moment all Piper could do was stare, caught entirely off-guard as the implications sank in. "You mean--and I--that's really how you--" He cut the words off, not sure whether he wanted to hug the other man or give him a good shake. _Well, you wanted to know what he was thinking,_ he thought half-hysterically. _No wonder he has to be mostly delirious to say it, if he thinks liking someone is a_ threat _\--_ It was almost funny. Almost. He shook his head helplessly, wondering what to say that wouldn't make things worse. "Look--James--that isn't a one-sided thing," he said, trying to put as much reassurance into the words as he could. "You have as much...control as I do." He paused, trying to see if that had sunk in.

Trickster just looked...helpless, and the expression was frighteningly wrong on his face. "James's my name. I made it," he said weakly. "Hart...Hart. Friends are _scary_. Clowns aren't that scary. They've just...got paint on."

Piper tried to smile. "I'm not putting on clown makeup to make you feel better, circus boy." His smile faded. "It's not that bad, you know. Having friends." Half to himself, he went on, "I miss when--it's so _quiet_ when no one's there...." A welcome voice greeting him when he stepped through the door, conversations drifting into his workspace, even the tired low-key buzz of the shelters...these days Trickster's voice was the only thing between him and the silence.

"Quiet...." He stared vaguely past Piper, then looked suddenly alarmed. "Where's the door gone?" he demanded, startling Piper out of his melancholy. "They...they stole the door! We can't get out!"

It should have been funny. Would have been, if not for James's fever-bright eyes and the lurch in Piper's chest. "Trickster. Calm down. The door is fine. There's nobody here but us."

James was starting to struggle a little, trying to push himself up and back from...something. He seemed to be staring over Piper's shoulder at nothing much at all, but his gaze was terribly unfocused. His breathing was increasingly gaspy. "Nonono!" he whimpered. "Don't push! Don't! I'll fall!"

Piper tried to sound reassuring. "You're not falling; you're safe in bed. Just lie down, you'll hurt--" He reached out and pressed gently down on Trickster's shoulder.

He jerked in response and tried to push himself backwards. "No! Don't!" 

Piper grimaced in concern. Too close to the wall that the bed was sitting against; another jolt would shove his injured shoulder against it. _Calm down, please calm down...._ "Hey, shh, it's okay, it's okay...." Despite his best efforts, Piper's voice wasn't as composed as he would have liked. He took his hand off James's shoulder, but the wall was too close for him to feel comfortable pulling it right back. "Just calm down. You're fine, there's nobody here but us...."

James blinked uncomprehendingly, shaking his head still. Then he gave a half-sob, half-groan, and folded forward suddenly, retching up bile.

 _Not again!_ He leaned forward automatically to help, touching his hand to James's face and then...

It happened far too fast. Trickster wrenched himself backwards at the touch, slamming himself against the wall before Piper could even attempt to stop him. His shoulder hit with a crunch and he screamed in agony, reflexively pitching forward again. Piper grabbed him by the arm, trying desperately to hold him still and lower him back down to the bed. "Trickster, _stop_ \--you're hurting yourself--"

But he kept struggling, thoroughly panicked, trying frantically to pull Piper's arms away, and pushing back towards the wall again. Adrenaline had given him extra strength, and all of Piper's struggles to pull him back just caused him to resist more desperately.

He managed to disengage an arm from Piper's grasp and hit out with it blindly, landing a solid blow that caused Piper to see stars for a few seconds. _Goddammit, what the_ hell _!_ His reflexes kicked in and he grabbed Trickster's wrist hard, pinning it against the bed. "Stop...fighting...!"

"Lemmigo! Lemmigo!" His companion continued to thrash, heedless of his pleas. "I'll tell!"

"Dammit, I'm not going to hurt you--just listen to me--" He tried awkwardly to pin the other hand while simultaneously keeping him away from the wall, but James's struggling was making it impossible. He was vaguely aware that the other man's reactions had gone beyond any coherent response and into pure instinct, but all Piper could see at this point was that he was going to cause even more injury to himself. If only he'd _listen_ \--

And then James's hand wrenched free again and went into the side of Piper's face. Not hard, or not too hard, at least, but it startled him enough so that when James pushed, he overbalanced and went down on the floor along with the chair. 

James slammed back against the wall again and shrieked with pain. His arms and legs flailing, he pushed himself along the wall and into the corner, trying to get as far away as possible. A trail of blood smeared the wall as he did so. The wound on his back had finally opened up under the stress of the last few minutes, soaking through the dressing and oozing onto the shack's cracked paintwork.

The sight of that red smear on the wall made something snap. "That's _it_ \--" Piper had his hand on the flute as he said it, and he was pulling it out as he stood up.

James's face was a mask of panic. "No! Don't! Nodon't please!" He was pushing himself back into the corner, heedless of the agony it must have been causing him, and holding one shaking hand in front of him as if to fend off his companion. " _Please_."

"James." Piper's throat hurt. "You're bleeding. You're sick. I can't help you like this--I have to--" He knew what he needed to do--one sequence of notes was all it would take to stop this--but his hands hesitated on the instrument.

Trickster looked more terrified than Piper had ever seen him. "Don't make me.... Don't make me!" he begged. "I won't tell! I won't tell Mom! Please don't!"

A slow sick weight was gathering in Piper's chest. _No. Oh, no--_ "I'm Piper," he said clearly. "Piper. You're Trickster. We're friends," and he didn't hesitate or stumble over the words. "You've been hurt, and I just want to help you. Will you let me do that? Please?" The last word came out more desperate than he'd meant to show.

James wasn't moving anymore, just huddling in the corner, still holding that one useless hand out in front of him. He still looked petrified. "Pleasedon'tpleasedon't. Please don't touch me. I don't want...I'll be good! I'll be good...."

 _Oh god_. Trickster _begging_ , in tones of purest desperation. Needed or not, he slid the flute back into his belt. _Last resort. Very last._ James's face eased slightly at that, and he lowered his hand. _Progress. Sort of. Keep going--_

"I know you'll be good," Piper said, and it was appallingly hard to keep that calm, reassuring tone when James was looking at him like a child who'd been-- _Not now. Not now._ He shoved down the incipient nausea and kept talking. "But your back is bleeding. I have to look at it so I can help. That's all, just your back. Okay?" He moved forward cautiously, hoping it wouldn't send James into another fit.

James only stared at him, wide-eyed, and then his eyes rolled up and closed, as he slumped into the wall.

Piper's heart nearly stopped. "Trickster--Trickster! James!" The other man didn't stir as Piper grabbed for his wrist, and his breathing steadied as he found a pulse. _Okay. Okay. He just passed out. He's..._

_...not okay._

The thought hammered incessantly though his head as he did his best to take care of Trickster, who mercifully did not wake up while Piper was cleaning and re-bandaging his wound. _Not okay not okay not okay this is not going to be okay--_

Finished with the dressings, Piper sank down in his chair and buried his head in his hands, trying to find some way around the inevitable facts. James had been shot; he'd developed a fever of at least a hundred and five, the wound--Piper flinched at the memory--had definitely gotten infected, and he was out here in the goddamned wilderness relying on Piper's incompetent doctoring and a total lack of any medical supplies.

_And he's violently hallucinating. Let's not forget that._

_...then again, let's do. Forget what he was saying because he's delirious and hallucinating and it doesn't...doesn't necessarily mean anything...._ Piper shivered, and raised his head just enough to confirm that James hadn't yet woken. He was secretly happy to put that off as long as possible--but then, even unconsciousness didn't seem to be granting James much ease; his face was still twisted with pain, and his sleeping breathing was shivery and too fast.

 _He's going to die_ , Piper thought sickly. _He's going to die and I can't do anything to help him--there_ isn't _anything, nothing for miles--_

_\--except for that base--_

_\--which probably has a well-stocked infirmary, because it's not like they can get supplies locally--_

Crazy idea. _Stupid_ idea. Crazy _and_ stupid, and probably suicidal to boot. But--

_We got in once. They can't have had time to rework all their defenses--and they won't be expecting me back--_

Of course not, because no sane person would _go_ back--

Piper looked down at James's agonized face, and decided that sanity was overrated.

He hadn't quite decided if he should wake James before he left, but the decision turned out to be unnecessary; he was just attaching the last of his devices to his belt when James's voice floated up from the bed.

"Piper?" he said weakly. "You're green...."

He was still clearly in pain, but there was no sign in his voice or face that he remembered anything that had gone on before he passed out. Piper took a deep breath and busied himself with his gloves for a moment, fighting down a confused mixture of relief and regret. "I am," he agreed softly. "It's all right." 

"Hurts...." James was barely conscious, his voice not above a whisper. 

"I know." Piper didn't touch him, didn't make a move in his direction. "I'm going to go get something to make it stop hurting. I'll be back soon." _Unless I'm not, and I'm just leaving you here to die alone--_ He swallowed hard, and tried to banish the image. _I don't have a choice. I just have to not get caught._

James's eyes widened; evidently that had got through. "Going...? Wha...?"

"Just for a while," Piper promised. 

He blinked, trying to focus. "Can't go. Bad." 

"I have to. And we don't have time to argue about it." Every minute he lingered worsened the odds...but it was so hard to move away.

"But I'll be bad...." James sounded oddly troubled, and Piper smiled sadly. 

"For once, that's not what I'm worried about."

"Bad... Good person. You... Where..."

"I'm going to get some help. Just...wait for me. _Please,_ " Piper told him urgently.

"...green music." 

He was just drifting now, lost in delirium, and Piper swallowed. "Green music," he agreed. "I'll play you some, later...."

"...good you...."

"I'd better be," he murmured under his breath. He set a glass of water where James could reach it, because it was all he could do, and moved to the door. He looked back for a long moment, and then he was gone.

**************

**And Holding…**

Breaking in again should have been terrifying, but the anxiety and dread petered into a horrifying numbness that was somehow much worse. And now that he was inside.... 

The medical storage facilities looked remarkably sophisticated for a base that didn't see a lot of conflict, even accounting for the fact that its owners were less than friendly. Another rebuttal to the old cliché that crime didn't pay.

No, the supplies looked fine; the problem was that he had no idea what he was looking for. As he pried the lock off another cabinet, he silently cursed the fact that most medications just said what they were and not what they actually _did_.

Then there was a soft click behind him, and it was testament to how deeply the numbness had penetrated that he hadn't heard the man before this stage. His heart dropped, and he froze as the voice said, "I have a gun. Turn around slowly, and don't try anything."

He wasn't dead yet. _Assess the situation._ He turned around. Slowly. 

A man in neat casual clothes was standing before him. Stethoscope around his neck, along with an ID tag and a pen. The pistol in his hands was held relatively firmly, with only a slight shaking in his arms betraying the fact that this wasn't entirely a comfortable situation for him. "You're one of the intruders from before. You came back here? The base is still on alert!" Then he added, realising his position, "Hands up. Don't touch anything!"

Piper watched him warily, but the gun didn't waver. He put up his hands. "I wasn't going to do anything. I was just..." He hesitated. "...looking for something." He kept his eyes on the gun, desperately seeking an opening.

But the man didn't seem inclined to give an inch. "Medical supplies?" He narrowed his eyes. "Your companion was hurt." 

It was a statement, not a question. Piper swallowed, hard, but there was really no point in trying to deny it. "He's been shot. He needs help."

"And you just waltzed back in, I suppose? The security on this site is ridiculous. Medical storage is one of the _first_ places they should have put extra guards, but no, they leave it to me to deal with."

"Nobody was supposed to see me. I just wanted the supplies."

The man looked supremely annoyed. "And yet here I am, doing a job that I am certainly not being paid for. I suppose I'd better call security. I would tell you to turn off the irritating tune that I assume is acting as some kind of diversion for the simple-minded, but I don't think letting you touch any of your gadgets would be a very intelligent move on my part, would it?"

How had he noticed? Some kind of mind shield against hypnosis, or was he naturally immune? Same result, in the end. He felt like screaming, but instead he snapped, "I'm so sorry I'm inconveniencing you with my problems!" Gun or no gun, his fists clenched. "Do you get a raise if you get someone killed?"

He frowned. "I'm a doctor. I generally get a raise for _not_ getting people killed. I am, however, perfectly willing to defend myself." He clicked the safety catch back, but he didn't shoot, and he didn't call the guards. 

"Defend yourself!" Piper's voice was shaking. "Your bosses will shoot me out of hand if they see me, and my friend will die out there, but that'll be fine because you were _defending yourself_."

His frown deepened. "And why is your friend injured in the first place? They should just allow you to walk in and out as you please?"

Piper looked at him in disbelief. "You work for thieves and killers, and you're lecturing _me_ on shoulds and should-nots? We didn't even take anything, dammit!"

"I work as a doctor. I heal people. What my patients do with their lives after I've healed them is not my concern."

"Not your concern? Not your _concern_?" Piper scowled, furious. Maybe he was about to die, but he was damned if he was going to let someone pretend they weren't responsible. "As long as you don't have to get the blood on your own hands, it doesn't matter? The bodies just disappear? _How can you work for these people_?"

The doctor was watching him with narrowed eyes. "Pragmatism. I suppose you're as pure as the driven snow?"

Piper practically snarled. "I don't pretend that not looking at what I'm doing makes it go away."

There was silence for a few seconds. And then....

"Oh for pity's sake!" In one swift movement, the doctor dropped his gun hand and clicked on the safety catch. "What was his temperature when you left him?" 

Piper blinked at him. "What?"

"His temperature. I am a busy man, do not waste my time!" The doctor strode forward, sweeping past Piper and heading towards the cabinets. He showed no fear that Piper would not answer his question, which was a little disconcerting.

"Around a hundred and five, I think," Piper said slowly. 

"And you only left _then_? He obviously has an infection of some kind; there was pus on the wound?"

He flinched. "...Yes."

"Is he coherent? Coordinated? Can he sit up and swallow?"

"No, he's pretty out of it. He's been swallowing when I give him water...." Piper trailed off, still watching in wary confusion.

"That could be a problem. Never mind. He'll need antibiotics. Fluids too, perhaps. He's sweating badly?" As he talked, the doctor began running his eyes across the cabinets, using his magnetic keycard to open them up, and shuffling through them. 

"Yes. What are you--"

"I don't suppose you have a swab of the wound, or a blood sample?"

Piper stared at him. "I must have forgotten to bring one along."

The doctor flicked him an irritated look, and then went back to his shuffling. "I didn't think so. A range of antibiotics then; it's hardly ideal but should work if you're lucky. You've got a bag? Right, bring it over here please. And I hope you have a good memory, because I'm going to be giving you several medications, and mixing them up would be a bad idea for your friend."

"I don't..."

"Know whether you can trust me? I think you have little choice at the moment. Still, it's your decision. Turn around or take what I give you and listen."

Piper blinked. Someone was helping him? After months and months of...someone was honestly _helping_ him? That couldn't be. He blinked again, and stared at the doctor, who was glaring at him as though he was a particularly annoying patient. But he'd put away the gun....

And really, the doctor was right. He hardly had a choice at this point. Piper came to a sudden decision and picked up the bag. "Thank you," he said, and his voice was shaking a little again.

The doctor's tone was brusque. "Considering what this could cost me, I certainly hope you do." He passed over two vials and two syringes. "This is an antibiotic. It needs to be injected into the muscle in his buttocks, in the top right area so you miss all the nerves. Make sure you swab with these before any injections, _and_ wash your hands and arms thoroughly, _and_ wear gloves. Give the two doses once every six hours. There may be side effects if you continue after that, so don't. Fluids..."

Piper hurried after him as he marched over to another cabinet. 

"An IV drip would be ideal, but I certainly don't trust you to set up an IV drip that won't malfunction or do even worse damage, so a subcutaneous drip will have to do. It needs to go in his thigh. Not in a vein, so don't try to find one, just stick it in. It's slow, so if he's able to swallow make him drink, instead of, or as well as." He dropped a package in the bag. "He'll need some more antibiotics too.... Give me a piece of paper from the desk over there, I'll write down dosages; you won't remember...." He grabbed a piece of paper from Piper and scribbled on it as he strode across the room again.

"Aren't they going to notice all this is missing?"

"Not if I'm clever with the inventory records. And I am very clever." He rummaged around the cabinet and pulled out packets of tablets. "These are two different types of antibiotics. It's important to combat the infection from as many angles as possible, but do _not_ give them to him if he's not able to swallow, because the last thing you need is for this to get in his lungs."

"Okay..."

He flicked his eyes over the shelves. "Something else to help with the fever.... I have some rectal Panadol here. Better than the liquid; he can't choke on it. The instructions are in the packet--" 

Piper interrupted him, shaking his head. "Give me the liquid; I won't let him choke."

The doctor turned and gave him an irritated look. "If he's too uncoordinated to swallow properly there's very little you'll be able to do to stop him. This is by far the safer option."

"He's going to panic if I use this." He shuddered a little. "That won't be safer for him, believe me."

The doctor frowned, still looking irritated. "He may find it uncomfortable, but it's better for him to be uncomfortable than not breathing. And if this is about your own discomfort with the procedure, then need I remind you that this is your friend's life we are talking about here?"

 _His_ discomfort with...? Piper found himself biting back overly-hysterical laughter. "You think I'm worried about that? No--god, no." He pulled himself together desperately. "But he _will_ be--look, just believe me, it's not discomfort; he's going to hurt himself if I do that. Give me the liquid."

The doctor gave him a long, hard look, but Piper's face was completely sincere. He relented, a little. "Take both types. If he can't swallow...you may have to restrain him if he reacts too badly. The Panadol is important; it will help immeasurably with the fever."

"Okay. Yes. I know. I'm sorry, I just know that..."

"I'm sure you do." And he was away again. "Painkiller. Injection in the buttocks, again. Every three hours, but not if he's unconscious; keep giving it until he stops being in pain or you run out, or you get him to a hospital, which is where he really should be."

"If I could get him to a hospital, I wouldn't be here."

"That's certainly true." More vials and syringes went into the bag. "The wound will need cleaning and dressing. Properly this time."

"I didn't have much in the way of tools--"

The doctor ignored him. "Before you start cleaning the wound, clean yourself! Here, antiseptic wash. Use it. Wash your hands. Several times over. And then put on gloves. This is vastly important!"

"Wash my hands." He nodded.

"Good. Now. Wound dressing pack. You need to use the syringes to clean the wound, and then apply the gel, pack the wound with sterile gauze and then fix an adhesive dressing over the top."

Piper frowned. "I'm not sure how to--"

"There's some instructions in the box that the manufacturer provides; I'll give them to you. It's not too difficult. Remember to keep things sterile. Finally..."

He knelt down and took a small oxygen cylinder from a lower cupboard. "This won't last long, but it's better than nothing. The fever means his blood pressure's low and his heart rate will be up, which means his organs may not be getting enough oxygen. Even if his blood pressure is stable it will help with the delirium. I'll give you the nasal specs, see these tubes? It'll mean the oxygen will last longer; ideally you should use a mask but with the mask it'll be gone in no time. Give him it as soon as you get back. Here, I've written down all the medicine dosages. Do you understand everything I've said?"

Piper bit his lip and nodded. "Yes. You've been very helpful." 

"Good. Go. I'm going to have enough trouble explaining where these supplies went without explaining why I'm helping you instead of killing you. I hope your friend lives. If he doesn't, it's certainly not for lack of trying on either of our parts."

"No, it won't be." Piper took the bag. "You should go run an errand--if they catch me, you weren't here when I broke in."

The doctor pursed his lips, and nodded. "Certainly a good point. I believe there are some instruments that need sterilising." He turned and began to walk away.

Piper moved to the doorway, and hesitated there. "Thank you," he said, softly. "Thank you." Then he fled.

The last thing he heard the doctor say was soft and probably hadn't been meant for his ears. "First, do no harm...." 

He didn't stop to hear the rest.

**************

**40.8 degrees Celsius / 105.4 degrees Fahrenheit**

Piper had no idea how long it took for him to drive back to the shack. Something shrieked inside him that he should be keeping track, that the longer James's fever was this high, the more damaged his system was going to be even if he _did_ survive. But he'd barely slept for days (hours? weeks?) and the only things that seemed real were the medical supplies on the seat next to him and the feeling of utter dread that seeped into every part of his being. Time was an incoherent blur that his mind refused to make sense of.

One minute the shack wasn't there, the next he was screeching to a halt next to it, stumbling out of the truck and through the unlocked door, calling, "I'm back" in a voice that was far too loud. Or was it that the shack was far too quiet...? For a fraction of a second Piper felt a stab of panic at the awful silence, and then James exhaled with a wheezing gasp and he remembered that he should probably breathe as well. Still alive. Still alive and Piper had supplies. _Instructions_. It would be okay. It would be fine. 

Still, he staggered to the bed, dragging the bag with him, and laid a trembling hand on James's forehead. Just to make sure; to confirm...something. 

James opened his eyes at the touch and stared uncomprehendingly at Piper, his voice cracking and catching as he gasped for breath. "C...Can't go on 'night. M'sick."

 _He's flashing back to his childhood again. Dammit. Oxygen canister. Give him oxygen first._ He fumbled with the bag and dragged it out. "Shh, don't talk. It's okay, you don't have to go anywhere--" He tried to sound reassuring but he was talking too fast, he _knew_ he was. "I have some tubes to help you breathe, just let me put them in--"

James didn't resist as Piper inserted the pronged tubes into his nose and turned on the oxygen, but neither did he look like he understood exactly what was going on. Still, the gasping seemed to ease a little as Piper watched him anxiously. He mumbled vaguely, "Faces...."

"Shhh," Piper said, again. "Faces, masks, you should get a new subject." He was still talking too fast, trying desperately to fill in the quiet while he steadied himself for what was to come. "Though it's better than--" _No_. He cut himself off, and reached for the bag. Work to do. He had work to do, and he had to _concentrate_.

He pulled out the medications, syringes and dressings and quickly separated them into piles on the shack's old coffee table. Pills, injections, medicine, drip. What was next?

James blinked hazily at the loaded table. "Where's hospital?" he mumbled. 

_If only._ "About ten hours away," Piper sighed. "Just me, still. But it's going to be okay, promise." 

_Except..._

He laid one hand on a syringe, then looked back at his companion and hesitated. The blood on the wall was still strikingly visible, drying now to muddy red-brown streaks.

 _It needs to be injected into the muscle in his buttocks._

And then there was the painkiller, and the drip, and there was no way, no _way_ that James was just going to lie there and let him do this. Not when he was this incoherent, not after how he'd reacted when.... 

_Please don't touch me._

Not if what Piper...if what he suspected was...was...

_Don't...don't use. Please._

Don't use the flute. Because using the flute was stripping him of every shred of control, and the Trickster needed to be in control. _James Jesse_ needed to be in control, and taking that away against his will would be worse than a betrayal, it would be a...a _violation_.

But maybe...maybe something more general. Just to relax him. Just a little. Stop the panic, because the medication had stopped being a matter of choice quite some time ago; now it was simply a matter of life and death.

Piper bit his lip, and walked over to a shelf in the corner of the cabin, pulling out a duffel bag stuffed with random mechanical components. With his back to his patient, he quickly and competently began to put a few of them together. Most of the bits were half-assembled anyway, so he knew it wouldn't take too long. The time seemed to stretch out as he worked, though, with James's confused stare boring into his back and the rasping breathing and the hiss of the oxygen as the only sounds.... _He doesn't know what you're doing. You're not doing anything wrong, in any case. You're saving his life._

Piper chewed his lip as he linked in the last wires and settled the device in the bottom of the bag, out of James's view. _You don't have any choice_. He flicked a switch and a relaxing, nearly inaudible hum filled the cabin. Soothing subsonics, just enough to calm people down without actively controlling them. The humming even made Piper feel a little better, although he was far too stressed and self-aware for it to make much difference. He turned, watching his patient carefully. 

James blinked rapidly at Piper, looking fractionally puzzled. Then his blinks slowed and the curled posture relaxed slightly. His eyes wandered the room, hazy and unfocused. "Wall's moving," he said softly. "Just a little. Hurts to sleep."

"It'll hurt less soon," Piper said, in a voice that he hoped sounded reassuring. He walked into the kitchen again and washed his hands thoroughly at the sink, then he moved back to the bed. In a voice that was as careful and unthreatening as he could make it, he said, "James, I need to give you some shots. They'll make you feel better."

He looked confused at that. "Got shot. Was _bad_."

 _What? Oh._ Piper had to suppress a hysterical giggle. "Very bad," he agreed in a heartfelt tone. "These are injections. Injections are good." He held one of the syringes up to demonstrate. "But I'm going to have to put the needle in your bottom, and I need you to hold still--you'll feel better afterwards, I promise." He put his hand on the blanket but didn't pull it back, trying to judge James's reaction.

"I...I..." It was hard to tell if he understood or not, but his face was a mask of pain. "P...Piper." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Make it _stop_."

A brief shudder ran down Piper's spine. God, he hated those words. "I will. I will. Just a little more--" Taking a deep breath, he moved the blanket gently off and started on James's pants.

James cringed a little at the touch, even through the pain and the soothing humming, and he twisted his head to keep his eyes on Piper. He didn't struggle though, and Piper felt a tiny stab of relief at that.

Stiff with discomfort, he fumbled for the swabs and prepped the needle. This felt so...invasive. So embarrassing that only a few hours ago he would have scoffed at James's obvious discomfort. It hadn't been...he hadn't known that it was... When the Trickster’s mask was in place, it was almost impossible to tell if he was sincere, or deceitful, or… or _really_ scared. How had Piper been supposed to know that he was serious about...?

_Don't touch me._

God, his _face_ when he said that. The image refused to fade away.

He shook his head, gritted his teeth. _Stop thinking._ Just do the job. Just get it done. 

He started to talk to distract both of them. "This one's a painkiller--and this one's an antibiotic--nice drugs, drugs are good for you--relax, that's all--" He applied the swabs, reached for the syringes, and carefully and quickly injected them. He felt James tense a little as the needles slipped in, but his only real reaction was to bury his head in the pillow. Piper thought that he might have been murmuring something, but he couldn't hear it over the hissing of the oxygen and the humming from the corner.

 _Done. Thank god._ When Piper withdrew, the tension in James's body eased a little and he turned his head to mumble, "Sorry..." It was hard to decipher what he might mean by that, or whether he was too delirious to mean anything much at all.

In any case, since when had James _ever_ said sorry? It was all so wrong, and Piper was so _tired...._ "It's...it's fine. Well, it's not, but you're fine. I'd give you a lollipop if I had one--" He moved back to the table.

"Don' walk on it. ...hav'to practice..." 

"I think you're going to be taking the day off. I'll write you a doctor's note--of course I'm not a doctor, but I got really good at forging those, all kinds of notes-- It came in handy later...." He was talking nearly at random as he looked around for a cup, found the one they'd been using on the floor with a crack in it, and went to get another one and fill it with water.

"...music notes... Piper?" James jolted to life a little as Piper walked to the kitchen. "Don't leave...."

Piper paused and turned to face him. "I'm not leaving," he said firmly. "See, right here--we're stuck with each other, remember? I just need some water--" When James seemed comforted by that he turned back, filled the cup and returned. "There's a couple of pills here, if you can get them down." 

"Down... Head down... Stay..." 

"I did keep my head down, remember? That's why I didn't get shot-- Here, can you swallow?" Carefully, he propped his companion up a little and poured some water into his mouth.

James was shaking, which meant that the water spilt a little, but he did manage to swallow and not choke. Piper felt another stab of relief. Hopefully he could get the pills and the oral Panadol down him without too much trouble.

After some thought he crushed the pills before trying to get James to swallow them, and then he lined them up with the Panadol and, one by one, coaxed them down his patient's throat. There was a lot of fumbling and a little coughing, but to Piper's relief, he didn't actually choke, and his only comment after the ordeal was surprisingly mundane. 

"Bad...bad taste..."

Piper actually smiled at that; it was the most normal thing he'd heard James say in what seemed like ages. "That means it's good for you, I think. I know that's an unfamiliar concept--" He gave him a little more water to wash the medication down.

James spluttered a little but managed a couple of mouthfuls before sliding back gracelessly onto the bed. "'sgood for you. Falling..."

The painkiller was starting to have an effect, it looked like. _Thank god._ "That's the idea," Piper says. "Falling's good for you. Just this once, I promise--"

"Once...then you won't...won't do it 'gain."

Piper stared, uncertain what to say. For a few minutes he'd fallen into the rhythm of administering the medicine, barely thinking about the other issues, but now.... What did he mean by that? Was it just an innocent comment? A product of the delirium? Or was it a reference to...something worse? He just couldn't _tell_ anymore. "I won't do anything that would hurt you," he said finally.

James was silent for a few seconds, just long enough for Piper to get a little worried. Then: "I...some...sometimes I know...'s hard...." His shaking was lessening, but he looked troubled.

"I know. I know. It's only me--" And God, if _that_ was much of a reassurance, Trickster really _was_ delirious-- He took a steadying breath. "I just want to help you. That's all."

He nodded, slightly. "Notagain. Floaty."

"Floaty's good. Floaty's great," Piper assured him, relieved to see the drugs taking effect. "Now, I need to put one more needle in, so you can have fluids--pretend it's chicken soup, or something--did you get that when you were sick? The housekeeper made it for me--" More random tangents to distract them both from the fact that he was taking off Trickster's pants again.

James blinked hazily and shifted at that, but the delirium, the humming and the drugs had combined to make it difficult for him to focus enough to get particularly worried about it. "Chickens...flying...not...not fall...I...I made..." He trailed off and turned his head to watch Piper as much as he was able.

"You made your own chicken soup? I guess that's about within your limits.... Or were you cooking chickens? Bet you burned them...." Piper slid in the needle while he was talking, and quickly started setting up a makeshift stand for the bag.

"Soup doesn't fly. Made shoes...."

"Well, most people's shoes don't fly either," Piper mused. "Maybe you could have antigravity soup...." He secured the bag. He was vaguely aware that he was making about as much sense as James was at this point, but he was honestly too exhausted to care. Next...what was next?

"Floaty shoes...." James sounded pretty floaty too. Some of the tension had left his body, and his face had lost the look of desperate agony that had been Piper's constant companion for far too long. Which was more than a minor relief, because next on the agenda was cleaning out the wound again and after last time.... 

Glancing over to his patient while he slathered disinfectant liquid all over his hands, he saw James looking at the needle in his thigh with the kind of vague uncomprehending curiosity that signalled that his brain was not currently anywhere near the planet Earth. Good. Great. That would make this _so_ much easier.

"Okay," he said as he walked back, more to himself than James. "Almost done. I have to clean out the wound to make sure it doesn't get infected." He swallowed and steeled himself. The echoes of James's screams from the first time just wouldn't leave....

But it was--well, not _good_ , but not nearly as bad, because he had proper equipment and some faint idea of what he was doing, and, more importantly, while James squirmed and whimpered, and flinched if he pressed too hard, he certainly wasn't in the agony he had been. Piper finished with little difficulty, putting the bandage in place, and for a moment he just sat there, hands on James's back, not moving. 

_What's next?_ He tried to think, and it took him a moment to realize that he was, in fact, done. There was nothing to do until the next lot of medication, and that was a few hours away. "That's all," he marvelled out loud, again, as much to himself as to James. "Nothing else...." 

Then again, it wasn't as comforting as it might be. They were still alone and James was still terribly sick, and Piper was now out of all remedy except waiting. He was exhausted. Utterly bone tired. But not quite tired enough to have stopped being afraid.

"Stop?" James's mumble was faint and barely there.

"Stopped," Piper sighed in agreement. "No more poking." Carefully, he tucked the blanket back around James, arranging it around the drip. He rested one hand on the back of his neck for a moment. "Go to sleep, now, you'll feel better when you wake up..." 

James's eyes drooped shut immediately. "...'kay."

He drifted. And after a while, despite the tension, and the worry, and the sheer dread, so did Piper.

****************

**38.1 degrees Celsius/100.5 degrees Fahrenheit**

Hours later, a hush had settled over the cabin. The subsonics had been turned off after the last set of injections, but there was a certain peace to the silence as well, even for Piper. It might have been relief, though; James's fever had definitely been dropping, and even after the oxygen had run out he had mostly slept peacefully, rousing occasionally to stare at Piper and mumble indecipherable words before sliding back into slumber. Piper tried to stay awake and watch him--he'd left him alone for long enough, he thought--but sheer exhaustion was taking its toll, and he kept falling into a half-doze in the chair.

He was not quite awake when he heard James announce, "There's a needle in my leg." 

Piper opened his eyes, blinking a little fuzzily, and straightened up. "I know," he agreed. "I put it there." At that point his brain kicked in enough to actually process what he was seeing; James looked much more alert than the last few times he'd woken up. "How do you feel?"

He looked around, a mystified expression on his face. "That...that first aid kit was _much_ better than we thought it was."

A real smile spread across Piper's face for the first time in a long while. "Welcome back."

Trickster's face was still rather ashen, but his personality seemed to be making a rapid recovery. "I was away?" He raised an eyebrow, and the familiar Tricksterish gesture made Piper want to smile even more. Then he frowned and shook his head a little. "My head...it's fuzzy." He shot Piper a look of sudden suspicion. "What'd you do?"

Piper shook his head, still grinning. "Now that's gratitude," he said, in a tone of mock-irritation. "I go to great lengths to nurse you through your fever, and what do I get? Accusations."

Trickster looked at him in baffled annoyance, clearly still struggling to pull his thoughts together. "Nursing me?" He hesitated. "I... Was I talking about clowns?" His eyes flicked back to the drip, and then to Piper. "What did you do to me?" 

Piper raised an eyebrow, the irritation slightly more genuine now. "Among other things," he said dryly, "I gave you painkillers and antibiotics to get the fever down. It seemed like a good idea at the time." 

Trickster gave him a frustrated glare. "Where'd you _get_ them?" he demanded.

Piper shrugged. "The bad guys have a very well-stocked infirmary."

The glare faded into blank, staring surprise. "You went..." He shook his head, again, and then winced. "That...that was _stupid_ ," he said, as if he could think of no stronger word. "Why did you...?" 

Piper paused uncertainly, a dozen answers flitting through his mind. _Because it was the right thing to do? Because you never deserved to have that happen to you? Because you're all I have left?_ "Because I didn't see any other choices," he said finally.

James looked at him, somewhat bewildered. For once, he seemed genuinely at a loss for words. "I... It still hurts," he said slowly. "Less...less than I remember. I think I remember...." He looked troubled. "How bad was I?"

"Pretty bad," Piper said; he could hear the flatness of his tone. "The wound got infected; your temperature was way up, you were delirious and..." _And dying_. But it wasn't true, not now, and if it wasn't true he didn't have to say it. "Do you want another shot of painkiller?" he asked abruptly, watching the way James's hands were trembling and the lines of tension in his body. "You're due soon anyway."

James hesitated, looking tempted. "I...in a minute," he said stubbornly. "When did you...? I don't remember you injecting me. And this...?" He looked at the drip, which was almost empty by then.

"It's like an IV; it's just to keep you from getting dehydrated," Piper told him. "I'm not surprised you don't remember; you were pretty out of it." _Probably just as well he's blanked all of that out. Of course, now I'm going to give him the next injection while he's awake, and won't that be a pleasant surprise for him?_ He winced at the thought. _And speaking of which..._ "Do you remember anything else?" he asked reluctantly. 

James was frowning in worried concentration, evidently trying to dredge through his memories. "Not... not really. Something about--the door...?"

Piper, expecting a different answer, could only stare at him blankly for a moment. _The door?_ Then the memory clicked and he broke into a grin. "Oh! Yeah, you were worried that somebody'd made off with it. Maybe you were hallucinating a ring of desperate door-stealing thieves." 

James looked at him with an air of disbelief. "Okay, I really _was_ out of it." He shook his head. "There's not much more that I..." Then he frowned again, and his eyes flicked up, to the smear of dried blood on the wall, and then flicked away just as quickly. "...I...can remember." His expression smoothed out into expectant curiosity, but Piper had caught the brief, troubled flash in his eyes.

The urge to smile faded. Having holes in your memory was a deeply unpleasant feeling, as he knew only too well. _And I don't suppose being a control freak makes it any easier._ On the other hand, Piper didn't think that knowing exactly what had happened would make James any happier. Piper wouldn't have minded missing it, himself. _Maybe I can ask him about it...later. Much later. When we've both had about a week of sleep and he's stopped looking like the living dead and we've started repressing the nightmares--Stop. Focus. Simple words._

"You talked a lot," he said, trying to sound casual and not evasive. "Mostly it didn't make any sense." He hesitated, but the bloodstain was a silent demand for explanation. "You got a little violent at one point. I think you thought I was...trying to hurt you." 

He watched James cautiously to see if that sparked anything, but he only shrugged and then winced a little, again. "Must have been the fever," he said, staring airily over Piper's shoulder. "Like I could ever see _you_ as a threat."

His tone was dismissive, and Piper felt a flash of sudden exhausted fury. He bit his tongue on a response they would have both regretted, and took a long look at the other man. Even through the pain and the drugs, Trickster had started to reassert his usual self-assured mask, just as if he'd never flinched from Piper's touch, or tried desperately to fight him, or struggled through a fractured explanation of why he couldn't afford to like him.... "You don't have to lie to me," Piper said, without thinking.

"I lie to everyone," Trickster told him. His face and voice were carefully controlled, but Piper thought there was a hint of desperation showing through the mask. 

"Everyone isn't here," Piper said sharply. "Just me. And I _am not a threat to you_." 

They stared at each other, Piper's gaze hot with frustration, and Trickster as coolly composed as if Piper hadn't said a thing. The silence seemed very loud.

It was Trickster who broke first, though. He slid his eyes away from Piper, and said vaguely, "You're an audience. I said that, didn't I?"

Piper's eyes narrowed. _Oh, no, you don't. Not after all this._ "Actually," he said deliberately, "you said I was a friend." _Well. Allowing for translation, anyway...._

There was an even louder silence, and then Trickster looked up again. "I say a lot of people are my friends, too." Now he just looked...tired. "I'm good pals with half the world, sometimes." 

_And warning me off isn't going to work, either._ "Yes, I know," Piper agreed, and smiled at him cheerfully. "But with me, you mean it."

Piper could almost see a cutting response forming on Trickster's lips, but it never materialized. Instead he seemed finally to give in, and there was a whisper of a smile on his face as he said, "You seem awfully confident 'bout that."

Deciding it wasn't the time to bring up confused fever-ridden admissions, Piper only shrugged. "If you were trying to play me," he said lightly, "you'd be doing a better job."

The smile was faint and slightly rueful. "Nah, it's all a sting. And the gunshot wound's just part of my cunning ploy, don't you know? I...you'll have to excuse me if I forget what I was trying to achieve with it...." Trickster winced again, looking increasingly uncomfortable, although whether due to the injury or the conversation was hard to tell. 

Piper took pity on him, deciding that that was probably as much of an emotional talk as either of them were up to anyway. "You were probably just looking for an excuse to lie around in bed while I waited on you," he suggested. "Speaking of which, I think it's about time for that shot." He patted James lightly on the shoulder and rose to go get the syringe.

James mostly managed to hide the relief. Mostly. "Oh good, drugs. Drugs sound great. Really." He paused as a thought seemed to strike him. "Oh, hey, the truck's still going?" 

"Yes," Piper said, looking back over his shoulder. "It's now sporting a decorative rash of bullet holes, but it runs." 

"Oh good. So, give it a day or so, or if we start running low on anything you can...I dunno, load me up in the back or something and we can get out of here." His tone conveyed the distinct impression that it would be his fondest dream to never, ever see the cabin again. Then he bit his lip. "But give me a lot of painkillers before you do that, okay?"

Piper thought about the logistics of getting James into the truck, and then all the way back to civilization, and felt slightly green. "Lots of drugs. I promise," he said with fervent sincerity. "And we can get more when we hit town."

"Right, I'm okay with that." James watched while Piper prepared the syringe. Then he closed his eyes and said, very quietly and sincerely, "Thank you."

Piper looked up in some surprise, and his eyes softened. "Anytime," he said simply. "Anytime."

=END=


End file.
